I'm Already Dead
by BroadwayBaggins
Summary: After a raging party turns deadly, medical student Sybil Crawley quits her job and tries to move on with her life. There's only one problem, though-she's now a zombie. Sybil/Tom iZombie AU written for the October "Rock the Paranormal AU" challenge.


_Author's Note: Sybil/Tom AU of iZombie. I've fallen in love with this show and highly recommend it! For those of you who don't watch, you'll catch on pretty quickly what it's about, but I will say that I have cast Tom in the role of Ravi even though Liv and Ravi are a total BROTP only on the show. I just liked the idea of Tom knowing Sybil's secret. Hope you enjoy! Happy Halloween!_

* * *

"Hey, lady, nice costume!"

Sybil forced a smile at the teenager, pulling her lab coat more tightly around herself as she walked in the chilly Seattle air. She had thought that Halloween would mean that she would blend in a little more with the average person on the street, but this was the third compliment on her 'costume' that she'd gotten on her walk to the medical examiner's office.

"Thanks," she said, trying to sidestep around him.

"No, seriously. How'd you get your makeup so perfect? That must've taken, like, _hours_."

Her fake smile widened just a little. "Lots of practice," she said with a little wink–what was the harm in messing with him a little–as she quickened her pace. "Sorry, kid. Gotta get to work. Happy Halloween!"

The teen in the cheap zombie costume would never know the truth–that six months ago, after a raging party that had turned deadly, Sybil had died–and come back to life. She had been scratched by a zombie, and because of that, was now a zombie herself. Her entire life had turned upside down–she had quit her job, dropped out of the medical field altogether, and taken a job in the coroner's office, working as a medical examiner and examining cadavers alongside Doctor Tom Branson. The job made it easy to get access to the brains she now needed to survive–any other food, although she could consume it, tasted like nothing more than dust. Even the brains were bland without copious amounts of hot sauce, the only thing capable of registering on her taste buds anymore. It was a sucky semblance of a life, but she was getting better at managing it day by day. It was probably better than being dead.

Although not by much,

Her impossibly pale skin was one of the less-revolting side effects of zombieism. If she didn't stay on top of dyeing her hair, her naturally brunette locks would be as white as her face.

She finally made her way into work and checked in, walking briskly to the morgue. Their current case, a murdered woman named Mabel Lane Fox, lay open on the table, but there was no sign of Tom. Sybil set her bag down in her office and pulled on her gloves, trying not to remember the way Mabel's brains had tasted this morning atop scrambled eggs and smothered in sriracha.

"All right, Mabel," she said softly to the corpse, taking in the bruising around her throat–consistent with strangulation–the deep cut across her abdomen, and her broken nose, her mouth stretched wide in a never-ending scream. "Who did this to you?"

There was a noise from behind her, but Sybil remained focused on her work. She turned and crouched, opening a cabinet for some supplies.

"GOTCHA!" Tom Branson cried out, leaping out of the cupboard at her.

"Very funny, Tom."

He pouted, grimacing as he contorted himself back into a standing position. "Oh my God, I've been in there for half an hour. I can't feel my feet."

"Serves you right."

"Were you honestly not scared? Is that a zombie thing? Are you incapable of being scared?"

Tom had figured out her secret on his own, and was so far the only one Sybil had ever told about her incident. Luckily, he wasn't terrified–he was fascinated, wanting only to help Sybil and learn more about what had caused her condition. Sybil had to admit that it was nice to have someone she could talk to about this, even though Tom could only sympathize, and had no idea what it was really like for Sybil to live (or…un-live) like this.

"Of course not. I can get scared. I just knew you were there. Next time you want to scare me, you might want to breathe a little quieter."

Tom sighed, stretching his arms above his head to crack his back. "Next time, then."

"Sure." Sybil looked him up and down, taking in the sight of his Victorian suit, his pale makeup. "What are you supposed to be?"

He stared at her. "Isn't it obvious?"

She shrugged.

"I'm Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."

"My first guess was gonna be Sweeney Todd, but that works too. Are we even allowed to wear costumes to work?"

"There's no rule that says we can't. I figure since you look the part every single day, there was no reason why I couldn't get in on the fun too."

"Whatever floats your boat. But if you get bits and pieces of Mabel all over your nice suit, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Speaking of Mabel, any insights yet into who might have done this to her?"

One of the side effects of eating brains was that Sybil took on the personality and memories of whoever's brain she consumed. It only lasted a few days (until she got her next one) but it was always a little jarring to suddenly find yourself with new opinions and abilities you didn't have before. Sybil was also prone to visions–memories of the victim stored inside the brains she ate–which were usually triggered by something in her real life and often led to catching the killer. Her visions had helped them with numerous cases in the past, even though it meant that Sybil had to pretend to be a psychic so as not to rouse suspicions among the police department. She shook her head. "Not yet."

"Well, one can only hope. Hey, can you handle her by yourself for a minute? There's something I need to do." He disappeared back into his office and returned a few moments later hauling an enormous pumpkin.

"You're going to carve a pumpkin in the _morgue_?"

"Okay, first of all, you know how often this place gets sterilized. It's cleaner than my kitchen. Second of all, this is going to get messy, and I'd rather not have pumpkin guts in my house and all over my garage. Plus, if I wait til I get home, it'll be too late and the trick or treaters will already be out. This is the only way I can get it done. It'll be fine, don't worry. I brought one for you too." He picked up a knife, preparing to plunge it into the top of the pumpkin, and Sybil gasped.

Suddenly she was no longer standing in the bright lights of the morgue. She was in an unfamiliar garage, and a pumpkin lay on a newspaper behind her with its top open and its guts spilling out. Sybil's heart pounded as a man she had never seen before picked up the knife–huge and sharp, too big for carving a pumpkin, right?–and advanced upon her, a sick smile crossing his face. _"You're gonna be sorry you ever messed with me,"_ he hissed, raising the knife and backing her into a corner.

The vision vanished, and Sybil gasped again, desperate for air. Tom was already by her side, concern (and a little excitement) written nakedly on his face. "What is it? Sybil, what happened?"

Sybil took a deep breath, trying to find her voice.

"I think I may have just seen Mabel's killer."


End file.
